Letters From the Front
by Twinings
Summary: When a man is being chased...there must necessarily be a chaser. -CAT-
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: While all but one of the characters in this fic are of my own creation, I do not own the 'verse into which they have intruded._

_This is a CATfic (__www. freewebs. com/ catverse__) taking place immediately after BiteMeTechie's "Riddle Me This." Yes, at last this story comes to be told._

_This is for every trucker, mechanic, and dirty old man who ever used my pouring his coffee as an excuse to touch my hand (the safest place to touch a seventeen year old with a dozen overprotective guardians ready to defend her honor while waiting for their turn to make her blush.) This is for every biker who ever asked, "Is he bothering you, Little Mama?" This is for every man who never said, "Thank you," but instead, said, "I'll dance at your wedding." It's for every good cop I've ever known, especially the ones who would have been such good fathers if only they'd had the chance. And most of all it's for a certain little girl who should have had all the time in the world to know how loved she was._

* * *

Dear Hollyn,

How's my girl? I have another exciting story for you, and you'll never guess who your old dad tracked down this time.

Remember how Grandma always wanted to take you to Gotham? But she won't do it because she's afraid of the Joker.

No, sweetie, it wasn't him. Someone even better. Not the Joker, not the Penguin—Third Elder, hmm? Yeah, I bet that's got your attention. So, put away your crossword puzzles. It's story time.

What our favorite supervillain was doing this far south, no one really knows. Sure, he spent a little time up in Manchester a few years back, but as far as we can tell, he had no good reason to come down here just to attack a Christmas party. We didn't even find any riddle clues, though I bet the folks up in Gotham did, and just didn't see fit to share. Some mystery, huh? I bet you could solve it in a week if the folks in charge let you join the force.

What we know from interrogating the three known survivors is that there were a pair of women living in that long cabin out on 7th St., who every year throw a big Christmas party for all their friends and "lonely celebrities." I don't know how many celebrities actually show up every year (if you're some kind of movie star, you can just buy a set of friends for the holidays) but it had become a pretty big deal among their crowd.

Those three witnesses were pretty fuzzy on the details, and one of them works for the local radio station, and managed to leak the story to the news department before we even had a chance to question him. You can bet I wish I'd started with him first. Before I knew it, the story was everywhere.

I'm sure you've heard all about it by now. The Riddler shows up in T-town, busts up a party, causes a panic, the neighbors see him chasing after the party guests and injecting them with some kind of _stuff_, four bodies found, fifty-six still missing and presumed dead, including the hostesses, blah, blah, blah. Actually, fifty-six is just a guess, since no one can seem to figure out exactly who was at that party. Not that anyone around here much cares. All they were worried about was catching the guy responsible.

And that's where the fun story really starts.

We got a tip that he'd been spotted trying to hitch a ride out of town going north on 459, so a whole string of us peeled out to head him off.

Charleson was in the lead, but old Eagle-Eyes McKey spotted him first, just a speck of green off in the distance, climbing up into a truck. We tore off down the highway in a flying wedge, lights going, sirens blaring, cars diving out of our way left and right, and that semi lumbered off just as fast as it would go, which is to say, not very. Charleson called out the warning, right and proper, and then took a shot at the back tires. And would you believe, that old trucker stuck his head out the window and yelled at us, "Don't y'all know better than to shoot at a tank full of nitroglycerine?"

Now, sweetie, they ain't supposed to do it, but sometimes these truck drivers transport dangerous materials like that through the cities to save time even when the law says they ought to go the long way around. You can bet we were plenty mad about that, but there was nothing to do but put the guns away and keep on chasing, lights still going, sirens blaring, and every one of us hollering for him to pull over and turn himself in. Somebody had to run out of gas sooner or later, and we were betting it wouldn't be us.

Well, we hadn't counted on Martinez being dumb enough to start out on a high speed pursuit after being too lazy to fill his tank, but there were still five of us left when the truck went under a bridge, coasted out the other side, and coughed its way to the shoulder. We surrounded the thing and got out, every one of us with our guns drawn. The old man put his hands up and came on out. A quick search of the cab told us the Riddler wasn't there. When we asked where he'd went, the old man just pointed up.

It was a pretty good trick, climbing up on top of the truck when we couldn't see him, but it wasn't going to be good enough to save him, no way, no how. We all set our sights on where we figured him to be, and Charleson yelled for him to come on down. When we didn't get no answer, Long started climbing up after him.

Once again, it was McKey that spotted him, and yelled out, "He ain't on the truck, he's on the bridge!"

When I looked up there, I saw him too, trying to hide and cussing like a dog. Pretty soon a Styrofoam cup came sailing down and hit Papogallo in the head. Hot coffee splashed everywhere, and she was so startled she fired a shot right into the tank of nitroglycerin.

We were none to happy about that, I can tell you! We all hit the dirt, except for the old man. He just started laughing and said, "Nothing's fixing to explode. I'm just toting corn."

"Then why the hell did you tell us it was nitro?" yells Papogallo, madder than a wet hen.

"Well, ma'am, when the fellow with the gun yells at you to get rid of the police, you don't argue, you just do what he says."

Now, it only struck me later that if the Riddler had a gun, he would of shot at us instead of throwing coffee. Maybe he was out of bullets, or maybe the old man only thought there was a gun, or maybe it was just another lie, but at the time we all assumed that the suspect was armed. We could see him trying to get away on foot, so we got back in our squad cars, all but Papogallo. We left her to deal with the old man.

Hey, have you ever heard of the Good Humor Mangler, who knocked off his victims using cherry popsicles sharpened to a point? Serious question. See, right after we left, a stolen ice cream truck plowed right into Officer Papogallo and knocked her silly. The driver made her comfortable, called an ambulance, and then took off in the police car with the old man still inside. When the paramedics arrived on the scene, they found the truck completely empty, except for the real owner, tied up and tripped to his underwear, and a single plastic wrapper stained with cherry syrup.

This case just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?

But, back to the chase. We had him cornered, me and Long coming up behind him, Charleson and McKey taking a shortcut to cut off his escape. It sure was good to know we was going to catch him before we crossed the state line and had to make a lot of extra work for the paper pushers. It might not have been strictly by the book to go chasing him halfway across the state without calling in some backup, and if he slipped on over into Tennessee, there wasn't no way we could get away with keeping this thing in the family, so to speak.

Now, what does Long do but decide to go shooting off his gun again. A warning shot, he says. I guess you can't get much more "warned" than to have a hole through your head. It's just lucky for Mr. Riddler that Long can't shoot and drive at the same time. I warned him not to be so stupid, but he just didn't listen. Bang bang, he got the suspect in the foot, and then took out Charleson's left front tire. Charleson went sweeping over sideways, knocked Eagle-Eyes right into a tree, and flipped in midair, right over the Riddler's head. That is one lucky man. But I guess the fact that he was lying in the grass, holding his foot, might have had something to do with it.

I thought fast enough to slam on the brakes before he could hit me. Long was too busy emptying his clip to pay attention to what was going on around him. Bam! Crash! Right through his windshield it went.

You know, I've been saying for years that guy was going to get himself killed doing something stupid, and the rest of us with him. If you still want to be a cop, sweetie, you've got to promise me you won't go acting like that. You'll be smarter. Hey, you already are.

When everything settled, I could see Long moving around, trying to get out of the car. It's true what they say, God looks after drunks and fools. The big surprise when I got over there, though, was that Charleson was all in one piece, too. I made sure of that, and then I gave Long a piece of my mind. Would have been a piece of my fist if he hadn't been so banged up already.

I got a little carried away. You've got to keep your mind on what's going on around you. Never forget that. I didn't think the Riddler would be going anywhere with his boot leaking blood. It's my fault for not watching him. One minute I'm bawling out the idiot, next thing I know McKey's lying on the ground and his car's bouncing off across the empty field.

Of course I chased him. I was the only one left to do it. McKey's car was dinged up, but it was still running fine. He zipped off across the grass, and I zipped off after him. Don't know why he didn't stick to the road, but I went after him. That was some wild ride, and it ended at the train tracks.

The train was coming, barreling along, not stopping for anybody. Riddler really put on the gas. If he could get to the other side of the tracks before the train passed, and leave me stuck behind, he was home free. Of course, if he got it wrong he'd be smashed flatter than a pancake. I can't blame him for flinching. He whipped off at an angle at the very last minute, running alongside the train instead of crossing in front of it. I kept on following after, and finally rammed the back of the car. It veered off, and I could see what I couldn't before: there was nobody in the driver's seat.

He is a smart one, isn't he? Put something heavy on the gas pedal and hop over onto the train, hoping I wouldn't know the difference until too late. It could have worked. Didn't, but it could have.

This was a freight train, no passengers, plenty of places to hide. I knew I couldn't afford to lose him, so I followed him over, quick as I could. You wouldn't believe the paperwork I had to do for wrecking the car.

I spotted him scrambling up to the top of the coal car, so I followed him up. When I got to the top, he was just disappearing down the hatch. It couldn't have been more perfect. The empty car might have made a good hiding place, but there was no way out. I had him cornered.

Here's another thing to remember when you become a cop: don't get cocky. Jumping down a dark hole after a suspect without looking first is never a good idea.

The car wasn't as empty as I expected. My feet hit coal, I went sliding off the side of the pile, hit my head on the steel wall, and bam. Out like a light.

I was lying there for a while. When I woke up in the dark, if he hadn't made any noise, I would have figured he'd gotten away. Lucky for me, the coal dust was thick and he couldn't stop himself from coughing when I kicked it up. I followed the sounds until I found him half buried in the coal. Don't know how he ended up like that, but he wasn't getting out of it.

"Well, good morning, Snow White," he said to me, all sullen. "You wouldn't mind helping me out of here, would you?"

I told him I'd be happy to help him to the nearest police station. He wasn't happy about it, but he knew he was caught.

I figured it was safer to leave him buried until the train stopped, so I climbed up to get a look at where we were.

It was snowing out there, and cold. There was blood trickling down my forehead. Hair as black as coal, skin as white as snow, lips as red as blood, you remember that story? We were in farm country, nothing around but fields and some trees. Snow was all over the ground, and the night was quiet. I could figure we wouldn't be stopping soon, so I jumped back down. Scattered more coal around when I hit it, and set the Riddler off coughing again. I got myself back to him and found him more covered over than before. He was plenty mad about that, you can bet.

He hollered at me to get him out of there, and after about an hour of coughing and whining and riddles I couldn't answer, I couldn't take it anymore, so I dug him out. I figured he wouldn't be going nowhere, and for a while he didn't. I got him handcuffed, and I had my gun. I didn't guess I had anything to worry about.

Well, you know where thinking can get you sometimes. It's not like he overpowered me and took my gun or anything like that, though. Actually, I thought everything was going according to plan. It wasn't too long before the train come to a stop and I heard a lady cop yelling for the Riddler to come on out with his hands up. I went out first to try and explain things. Then I pulled him up after me.

Something didn't seem right. There was only the one car, parked there in the snow. And only the one cop, standing there wearing her uniform like she'd never had it on before. But I was tired, and ready for the day to end. It didn't matter that there was nothing around, no buildings, no people, no reason for her to have come along and stopped the train. I didn't recognize Papogallo's car and badge.

I turned the Riddler over to the lady cop. He was such a mess, I didn't think I had to worry about whether or not she'd be able to handle him. I did notice a whole lot of ice cream lying on the seat when she was putting him in the car, and that set off the alarms.

When I pulled my gun, the fake cop pushed the Riddler away and ran at me. I fired off a shot, got her shoulder, but she kept on coming.

Don't ever let anybody tell you girls can't fight. She plowed into me just like a linebacker and knocked me flat. Next thing I know, there's two more of them, and the one in the ice cream truck uniform is pointing my own gun at me.

The ground was harder than my head, and I figured that was why I heard the buzzing in my ears. Wrong again! They say those girls, Quiz, Query, and Echo, were bikers before they worked for the Riddler. I guess it's true. Anyway, there were a lot of motorcycles around us just then. They circled, picked up the four criminals, and rode off, and I happened to notice the Riddler looked as surprised as I was.

Maybe I should have just let them go. I was outnumbered, and I had already done my best. But you know me. I couldn't do it.

Lucky for me, there was an Amish fellow coming up the road behind me. I commandeered his horse and buggy and took off after the biker gang.

That was some chase, I can tell you. Probably best not to dwell on it. They were pulling well ahead of me, but I could still see the stragglers when I came even with the cemetery and saw a flash of green inside the gates.

Best I could figure, they'd left him behind for safekeeping and gone on to lead me away from their boss. You can bet I wasn't fixing to let that happen. I bailed out and ran after the green.

He gave me such a chase through the cemetery, back and forth, around tombstones, behind trees. Once or twice he almost gave me the slip, but I'd made up my mind not to let him get away. I finally took him down. Tackled him and laid him out across a grave.

For a second there, all I saw was how much like a dead body he looked with his head back against the tombstone. It was black, with a design like curtains framing his head. Some picture.

And guess what! It wasn't the Riddler. He was wearing the Riddler's hat and green jacket, but it wasn't the guy. And boy was he laughing at me.

By the time I got back to the road, the real Riddler was long gone. So much for being a hero. I'm in a lot of trouble right now, if you really want to know.

But you know what? I figure I can't get in any _more_ trouble just for getting my little girl a hat like I know she's always wanted. They should have kept a closer watch on the evidence anyway, right?

Merry Christmas, my little riddler.

Love,  
Dad


	2. Le Epilogue

The police had been coming around all day. Searching for a dangerous criminal. Mrs. Kavanaugh didn't know what to make of it. She was a homemaker, pet owner, mother of four, winner of the Historic Preservation Award for her beautiful house, which was part of the Historical Society's Christmas tour. All this in a town she called Mayberry, where that kind of thing really counted for something.

When the fourth one showed up, she didn't even bother treating him like one of the authorities. She just gave him the tour like anyone else.

First the living room, dominated by the seven foot tall Jeffrey Pine draped with ornaments both store bought and homemade, dating back to many, many years in the past. Her second daughter was there, holding onto the pug as she'd been instructed to do in order to avoid torn pants legs. Actually, Bob didn't have the jaw strength to tear through anything but kibble, but _he_ thought he was the fiercest guard dog ever to growl at the mailman, and he did get underfoot.

Mrs. K went through the usual speech about the architecture, competing with _The Nightmare Before Christmas_ for volume. The movie didn't fit the theme of the house, but all her girls loved it, and at least it was about Christmas. She wasn't going to argue with that, but she did give the signal to _get your feet off the furniture_. A you're-ruining-my-life fifteen-year-old glare was all the response she got.

Past the surly teenager was the kitchen and dining room, where she went on at length about the authentic door handles and the difficulty of restoring the cabinets and plumbing, to the police officer's obvious annoyance. Well, it served him right for invading her house.

The computer room and downstairs bathroom weren't in keeping with the house's Victorian aesthetic, and therefore not part of the tour. She had to stop him from going into the bathroom.

"I don't think you want to open that door," she cautioned.

"Oh? And why not?"

"Because that's where we keep Giacomo when we have company." Before she could elaborate, her daughter came up behind her with the squirming pug.

"Mum, can I put Bob in the bathroom?"

"Just don't let Giacomo out." She opened the door wide enough for the little ham-shaped pup to wriggle through, giving the cop all the view he needed. Naturally, the room was empty except for the Saint Bernard pressed against the closet door, snoring thunderously. "I'd show you the washer and dryer, but I don't think Jock is ready to be moved." The policeman didn't seem to recognize the sarcasm in her voice. Most likely, he was too busy calculating just how wide those massive jaws would have to open to bite off a grown man's head.

Giacomo yawned.

"I can see you're very well protected." He took a hasty step away from the bathroom door. "I'm sure you don't _ever_ have to worry about intruders."

"Not with him around," she agreed, and shut the door. There was a thud from upstairs that positively rattled the ceilings. Since it wasn't followed by a storm of screaming tears, she had to assume the little girls had conned their big sister into playing rodeo again. "It sounds like my girls are making a mess up there. You don't need to see the whole house, do you?" He hesitated.

"Well…"

It was then that the youngest shrieked, "Eddie! Stay away from the window!"

The cop's eyes went hard with suspicion.

"Eddie?"

"My cat," Mrs. Kavanaugh said evenly. "It's short for Edina Monsoon." He didn't crack a smile.

"Mind if I take a look upstairs?"

She folded her arms across her chest.

"Mind if I take a look at your search warrant?" They spent a few moments engaged in an epic staring contest. Naturally, he broke first. No man of woman born could withstand the patented Mom Stare.

"Ma'am, I can go back and get a warrant if you insist, but when I come back, if I find out you've been harboring a fugitive, you're going to be in a whole lot of trouble."

"Like _my_ mum would ever harbor a fugitive. She's way too much of a dork."

Mrs. Kavanaugh tried not to smile. That just showed how much the kid knew about her mother's wild youth.

"I don't want you scaring my little girls. They're up there playing with their sister and her friends. I don't want them thinking there's anything to be afraid of."

"I'll just take a look around. I swear."

She followed him up the stairs. No matter how careful he was, she knew her monster child would be sure to ruin it later by telling the younger ones the absolute worst story she could think of—and she was a very imaginative girl. Still, it couldn't hurt to _try_ to protect them.

Kitty litter was scattered all over the floor. They'd been chasing the cat around again.

She could hear squeals and shouts of, "Get up, horse!" coming from the girls' room.

The policeman moved forward and opened the door. As expected, the room was a total mess, with stuffed horses and dress-up clothes scattered all over the floor. And the two little girls, along with the angry kitty, were bouncing up and down on their sister's back. She lay on the floor, groaning, while her friends had a good laugh at her expense.

"Get off your sister before you kill her! You'll break her back."

"No, it's okay," the weary pony protested immediately, and somehow heaved her way up to her hands and knees. She even made a token attempt to buck them off the way she had done when they were younger, though the two of them together more than outweighed her now.

The girls bounced again, and their pony collapsed with a breathless whinny.

Now, did they really look like the kind of people who would hide a criminal from the police?

She let him talk to her daughters for a few minutes, supervising with a stern maternal stare. After hearing one of the guests speak up with her strong Midwestern accent, he put his focus on the children. He was very careful of their delicate sensibilities, and perhaps more than a bit unsettled by the feeling of disapproving eyes boring into the back of his head.

When the cop finally got it into his head that he wasn't going to find anything, she offered him a glass of lemonade and sent him on his way. With any luck, the authorities wouldn't think any _more_ investigation would be necessary.

Either way, she should let the dogs out, at least for a little while. When she opened the bathroom door, Bob waddled out, curled up on the rug, and instantly went to sleep. Giacomo raised his head to look at her, a long strand of dog drool hanging from his drooping jowl.

"Get up, big guy. Landry time." The dog staggered to his feet, sliding on the tile floor and favoring his bad hip. He came to her looking for affection; she had to turn his head away with both hands to avoid getting a trail of slobber across her chest. "Okay, I love you, too. Now, go slime Bob. He likes it." There was a muffled thump from the closet where the washer and dryer were kept. Giacomo slammed his back end into her, almost knocking her off her feet, as he turned around to investigate what he had evidently forgotten was there.

Mrs. Kavanaugh opened the closet door and found herself glaring down at a sooty, disheveled man in an oversized leather jacket, who she never would have recognized as the infamous Riddler if she hadn't known to look for him. He started to try to get up from his cramped spot between the dryer and the wall, only to freeze in place when Giacomo ambled over to stare down at him, no more than an inch away, licking his lips compulsively. There was no sound but the steady slurp, slurp, slurp.

"Um." He tore his eyes away from the dog to stare up at her, absolutely frozen with fear. "Hi. Is—um—is your dog going to eat me?"

She rested her hand on Giacomo's back. He looked up at her, then leaned forward to bury his nose in the Riddler's hair, sniffing energetically. She waited until the man was visibly shaking before she spoke up.

"So, Riddler, just what are your intentions toward my daughter?"

"I—C—Captain? I don't—" Giacomo resumed licking his lips. The Riddler flinched.

"I keep telling her she should move up here with us. I don't think she's making the right kind of friends where she is."

"Oh," he said nervously. She sighed in irritation. Giacomo imitated the sound.

"Are you going to take her with you, back to Gotham?"

"N…no?" he hazarded.

"Don't be so sure, Riddler. I know my little girl. She likes you. She likes the idea of coming to your rescue, and she's going to keep doing it whether you ask her to or not. You might as well just give in."

"Anything you say." She almost laughed. What a wuss, intimidated by a woman and her brain-damaged, epileptic drooling teddy bear of a dog. He was just lucky she hadn't called her husband up out of the basement.

"She's good at getting her friends out of trouble, but she's even better at getting herself into it. You'd better keep your eye on her. If anything happens, you'll answer to me."

Giacomo's stomach rumbled. The Riddler stopped breathing.

"Mum!"

She turned around to smile at her firstborn.

"Hey, sweet pea. How long have you been standing there?"

"Oh, Mum, did you _have_ to set the monster dog on him? He just got fear gassed _yesterday_, and he wasted most of the antidote on _us_. Give the guy a break." She dragged the dog back by his collar and extended a hand to her friend to help him up. He eyed Giacomo warily. "Oh, relax. He doesn't bite. He doesn't even bark or growl. He just wants you to pet him. And he's only licking his lips like that because he thinks he can get a t-r-e-a-t out of you."

Her mum smiled.

"You know, if you'd ever brought home any boys _before_ the supervillain, we would have gotten the shotgun cleaning out of our system already."

"He's not my boyfriend! Don't worry, Eddie. They don't even own a gun."

"As if we'd need one." Her husband was a _big_ man. All he'd have to do was loom a little bit and scowl, and he could have any would-be son-in-law running scared.

"Mum, seriously. I'm just trying to help out a friend, okay? I'm not running off to Gotham to be his girlfriend _or_ his sidekick. As soon as I get him home safe, I'll go back to being a boring, law-abiding citizen, and this will never happen again."

Oh, the silly girl, thinking she could hide the truth from her own mother.

"It better not. Now, would you and your friends like some fresh baked cookies and milk?"

Her daughter brightened.

"Oh, yes! That sounds great."

"Then you'd better get baking." She dragged Giacomo out of the bathroom to give the kids some privacy—as much as was possible with that many nosy kid sisters lurking outside the doorway.

The Captain turned to Eddie with a hesitant smile.

"So, uh…do you want to be my stirring buddy?"

"But that's _my_ job!" the youngest sister and the first mate yelled at the same time.

With an affectionate groan, the Captain laid her head on the Riddler's shoulder.

"Welcome to the family, Eddums. Next time, we're hiding out with _Al's_ parents."

Out of sight, her mother smirked. There was always going to be a next time.

* * *

_Much thanks for reading! The story that follows is "Strays."_


End file.
